


Showing, Not Telling

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Are Dumb, Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-12
Updated: 2005-10-12
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus learns why showing is better than telling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showing, Not Telling

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, I started a story about masked groping at a Halloween party. That story kinda didn’t work, so I turned it into this instead.

It is inevitable, perhaps, that things get out of control. A Halloween party -- people in masks and costumes, free to behave as if they're someone else for the night -- is the perfect excuse for naughtiness, and everyone is looking to escape the unspoken tension seeping into Hogwarts from the world outside. And then there's the quart of rum Sirius dumped into the fruit punch when no one else was looking. Remus hadn't seen the point of stopping him, doesn't even think it's possible anymore, even if he wanted to.

It's definitely the rum, Remus thinks, that has brought him to this. It's dark along the narrow corridor and he can feel bodies pressing close on either side, hear the soft wet sounds of snogging going on around him. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but he's definitely had quite a bit of rum, and he's lost track of the girl who dragged him back here, giggling behind her white feathered mask.

He turns, feeling his way back to the Great Hall, mumbling apologies under his breath when he stumbles against another warm body. He's almost free, and almost regretting it, when he finds himself pushed back against the wall, large, warm hands gripping his shoulders. He inhales, ready to speak, and smells rum, punch, _Sirius_.

"What do we have here?" Sirius murmurs softly, fingers sliding along the collar of Remus's t-shirt. Remus thinks Sirius knows, he _must_ know, must recognize who he's touching, and he waits for Sirius to laugh, but Sirius doesn't. In the darkness all he can see is the bright shine of Sirius's eyes and teeth before Sirius is kissing him, thick sloppy tongue tasting of rum and fruit punch licking the inside of his mouth, long fingers circling on the skin of his collarbones, raising gooseflesh and making him shiver and press closer. He can feel the heat of Sirius's erection against his thigh as Sirius rolls his hips, and he can't help but respond, moaning a little into Sirius's mouth.

"Mmm...that's good," Sirius whispers, lips ghosting over his ear and then teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh behind it, just hard enough to sting, hard enough to leave a mark; the sensation sends another shock of desire to Remus's cock. He forgets all the other people in the dark hallway as Sirius's deft fingers make short work of belts and flies; no doubt the others have forgotten them, as well.

He and Sirius thrust and surge against each other, the friction making white light spark behind his eyelids, and he shudders as he comes, Sirius's hands tight on his shoulders, Sirius's tongue slick in his mouth. Sirius follows with a low moan Remus can feel vibrating through him and into the stone wall at his back, and then presses his face to Remus's neck, breathing heavily.

Before either of them has time to say anything, a whisper rustles down the line like wind through the trees. "McGonagall's on her way," it says, and there is a flurry of muttered spells and murmured promises as they all rush to return to some semblance of normalcy.

The corridor is illuminated with a flash and a sharp word, and Remus can feel his face burning. He gives silent thanks to whoever passed on the warning that his jeans are zipped and his belt buckled. He looks up, rueful smile poised on his lips, but Sirius is gone.

Sirius is already abed when Remus stumbles back up to the dormitory, McGonagall's lecture still ringing in his ears ("Lupin, you're a prefect," McGonagall had said, mouth pinched in disappointment. "I expected better of you. You will be scrubbing bedpans for a week.").

In the morning, Sirius stares at him for one long moment, or, rather, stares at the red mark blossoming beneath his ear and Remus wonders if he hadn't known, if he'd expected someone else -- there had been a number of students dressed as Muggles; perhaps Sirius had wanted one of them, instead. Remus turns away, flushing under the scrutiny, and covers the mark with a quick glamour.

They don't speak of it.

James nearly laughs himself sick when he learns Remus has detention for being in the corridor while lewd acts were taking place, but he slings an arm around Remus's shoulders and says, "We're proud of you, mate. I hope you got off before you got caught."

Sirius laughs as well, though it sounds forced to Remus, and he wonders again if Sirius had made a mistake. He tries not to think about who Sirius was looking for.

It was definitely the rum, he tells himself, and tries to forget.

***

The next time it happens, he blames the moon. There's a reason it's associated with insanity, after all.

He wakes on the floor of the shack, curled around the big black dog, shivering with cold, fingers fisted in the silky fur.

Sirius does an odd twist-shift Remus thinks he will never get used to seeing, so effortless and painless compared to his own transformations, and the dog is gone, leaving a boy in its place.

"Fuck, Moony, your lips are blue," Sirius says, frowning in concern. "Come on, let's get you into bed." He hauls Remus -- still clinging, and it's sort of embarrassing, but Remus is too cold and tired to care -- up and half-drags half-carries him to the bed, which they tumble onto together because Remus still hasn't let go of him. He thinks his fingers might be permanently frozen in that position, which will make life difficult for both of them.

Sirius manages to get the covers over them and then wraps his arms around Remus. "I bet your Animagus form is a grindylow," he says with a little laugh, and Remus buries his face in the warm crook of Sirius's neck, smiling. Sirius yelps and laughs again. "Your nose is cold," he murmurs, stroking Remus's hair.

"You should go," Remus manages, voice scratchy and throat sore, but his hands refuse to let Sirius loose. "Pomfrey will be here soon."

"We've got time," Sirius assures him, and Remus thinks he must be imagining things, because it feels like Sirius brushes his lips across his forehead, and--

"Sirius?"

"Shh," Sirius says, and now his lips are against Remus's mouth. "Your lips are blue, Moony. Blue Moony." He huffs another soft laugh, warm breath tickling Remus's lips, and Remus thinks his stupid nickname has never been more apt. Sirius kisses him then, gently, as if afraid he might break or pull away.

He doesn't.

Sirius's kisses are slower, softer, this time, but Remus's body responds the same way it did on Halloween, with a swift flare of desire, even in his exhaustion after the change. He has no strength to resist now, no desire to question, no ability to feel shame. He is nothing but sweat and skin and nerve endings, the pure embodiment of need; Sirius's hand is warm and sure around his cock, stroking hard and fast. Sirius's lips are against his ear, crooning softly, and one hand settles on the nape of his neck, anchoring him. Sirius thrusts against his thigh, and he wraps an arm around Sirius's waist to hold him close.

The pressure building in him is almost painful; his body has already been pushed beyond endurance twice in the last twelve hours. When the tension breaks, when he comes in a rush of warmth that radiates through him and out over Sirius’s still stroking hand, it is with a soft sigh that is as much relief as bliss, and he melts into the mattress, into Sirius's heat, as if he's made of water. A minute or two later, Sirius shudders against him with a low moan, head thrown back in pleasure, dark hair spilling over the white pillows while the last grey light of dawn turns to gold.

He wants to curl up and sleep, cozy and sated in Sirius's embrace, but he hears footsteps on the creaking stairs.

"Shit!" Sirius jumps up and spells them both clean before diving beneath the invisibility cloak, pooled on the floor in a shadowed corner of the room. Remus watches him disappear beneath its silvery folds as Madam Pomfrey bustles in, her cheerful face red from the cold outside.

After a quick examination which leaves her smiling -- thanks to the others, he has no major wounds this month, just the screaming ache in his bones from the change itself -- she helps him dress and they walk back to the hospital wing together.

He doesn't see Sirius again until late in the afternoon, and Sirius acts as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, though Remus can still feel the moist heat of his breath on his neck, the strong grip of his hand on his cock, the rapid beat of his heart as they lay together afterward.

Looking at Sirius now, Remus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing, or if it was some moon-induced hallucination. He's heard tell of werewolves going mad before.

But when Sirius leans close, reaching across Remus for his Arithmancy textbook, he still smells faintly of sweat and sex, and Remus knows it was no dream, just Sirius’s version of full-moon madness.

***

The note is unsigned, the handwriting unfamiliar. It simply says, _Meet me behind Greenhouse Three after dinner_.

Remus should know better -- he _does_ know better -- but he goes anyway, slipping away from James and Peter in the mad rush to leave the Great Hall after dinner.

He forces himself to slow down as he approaches his destination, practically vibrating with anticipation, unsure of what he will find -- fight or fuck, either way, he thinks, he’s ready.

Except he’s really not, because as he rounds the corner, hands grab his coat and shove him against the glass wall, which is warm at his back.

"Idiot," Sirius growls at him before closing in for a punishing kiss.

He wants to melt into it, but instead he shoves Sirius away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Who were you expecting?" Sirius demands.

Remus blinks, taken aback at Sirius’s anger. "I-- I don’t know."

Sirius gives him a challenging glare. “It could have been anybody. Does it even matter to you?”

“I--" Remus shakes his head as if to clear it, but Sirius isn’t making much sense. Which isn’t all that unusual, but-- "What are you on about?"

"Come here expecting a little of the old in-out, did you? Fuck and run, no questions asked, right?” Sirius presses up against him, hips rocking into his. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint."

Remus fists his hands in Sirius's jacket, the leather cool under his fingers, and pulls him even closer. “I’m not the one who keeps acting like nothing’s happened,” he snarls. “You’re the one who fucks and runs, not me. What are you playing at?”

"At Halloween, you," Sirius pokes him in the chest, "went off with Susan Grimaldi."

"I--" _I was drunk_ , he thinks, but he says, "But I ended up with you."

Sirius’s eyes widen. "You-- you _knew_?"

"Of course I knew." He reaches up, pushes Sirius’s hair behind his ear. "I’m not an idiot. You didn’t say anything, though, so I thought you were just drunk and horny."

Sirius closes his eyes and turns away, rueful smile on his face. "And what was the other morning?"

“I don’t know, Sirius. Some kind of pity fuck, maybe. Or full moon fever. Why don’t you tell me?”

"You really are a moron, you know that?" Sirius says, but he’s pressing close again, and laughing. "A pity fuck, I ask you. I think not."

"Then why don’t you tell me--"

"Do better than that," Sirius replies, lips against Remus’s so he feels the words as much as hears them.

"Oh?" It's more breath than speech. Sirius answers him with a kiss and another slow roll of his hips. "Oh," Remus whispers again, clutching at Sirius’s shoulders so he can kiss him again, tongue eagerly slipping into Sirius’s hot wet mouth. Showing, he thinks, is much better than telling.


End file.
